I do like spring. It’s right up there with fall in terms of my favorite seasons. I love the flowers that spring brings. The problem with spring has always been determining her exact arrival date. There have been years when she hasn’t shown up until well into April. I always cross my fingers and hope that she will appear in early March, but that is often wishful thinking.

My college students were duped by Miss Spring very recently. We had a few days of balmy temperatures, and my dear educated students showed up wearing shorts and flip-flops to class. “You silly children,” I told them, “Miss Spring doesn’t show up in February!” They were insistent that the groundhog had determined that she would appear early this year. But I knew better, I have much more experience with the fickle girl!

For many years, my son and I have ventured to Florida for a few days to catch some baseball spring training. Spring has definitely shown her face to Floridians by March. I feel a bit of guilt as I pack my shorts and short-sleeve shirts for our trip. I know that my friends and colleagues will be sporting heavy sweaters, coats and hats while I venture south. I sit in the sun during those games and practices. I bask in the glory of sunny skies and warm temperatures.

But I know deep down that it’s only temporary. When I board the plane to head back north, I am uncertain about what kind of weather will face me when I exit the airport. It’s usually in the airport that I change from shorts to more appropriate clothes. Sometimes I even have to scrape ice or snow from my car when I finally get there.

One year, we got stuck in Atlanta on March 18th. The reason for the sudden stop in our travels: massive snow storm in the northeast. In March! Surely Miss Spring was enjoying her time in Florida too much to head north. Desperate to get home, my son and I flew into Raleigh, North Carolina, rented a car and drove the rest of the way home. We left any hint of spring once we crossed the state line into Virginia.

I realize that our dear friend in Punxsutawney indicated that we would see spring early this year, but as the first of March is rapidly approaching, I am fearful that once again she will take her time getting here. However, the optimistic me did order twenty-five bags of mulch to be delivered the second weekend in March. You never know, she might indeed decide to surprise us!

One of my students

I was discussing with my reading class today how we as teachers can have a huge impact on our students. I shared the story of one of my experiences with a particular student. I had written a journal entry about Jered a year ago, but never posted it here on my blog. Jered and I are now friends on Facebook and he is a teacher himself. I thought it time that I posted that story. So, here it is...

When I first began my teaching career, I had little idea of the impact I might have on my students. During that first year of teaching, I was asked to help out with a particularly difficult 8th grade music class. Because I loved music, I eagerly accepted an assignment co-teaching with the band/chorus teacher. There were about twenty students in the class, so I thought to myself, "How difficult could this be?". I was eager to begin working with them and hoped to instill in them a love of music.

I was in for a rude awakening that first day of class. Most of the ninety-minute class period was spent on behavior management. We were simply trying to get students to perform the activities that met the objectives of the class lesson. The real difficulty was that there were several students who were very interested in learning about music and there were those who quite obviously were not remotely interested in learning anything. To say that class was a disaster would be kind. It made me doubt whether or not I wanted to return. So the other teacher and I began creating our master plan to engage the students and make them want to learn. We drafted a behavior management plan and with the blessings of our administrator, we were off.

For a few weeks, the plan worked. The students were singing, discussing dynamics and harmonies, and it seemed-ever so briefly-that they were learning. After each class, my colleague and I would discuss activities that were working and those that were not. We would adjust things and re-adjust. I felt like progress was being made. We even began to plan for the students’ participation in the county wide choral adjudication. And that’s when the explosion occurred.

It wasn’t really an explosion. It was more like a very dramatic mutiny. Behavior that week went ballistic. My colleague was labeled the good guy-he was responsible for their grading-and I was the wicked witch. Now mind you, I am a theater person and the Wicked Witch has always been one of my favorite roles, just not in this setting. The climate in the classroom by the end of the week was so bad that I walked out. I went directly to the principal’s office and told her I was resigning from the chorus position. She empathized with me and reiterated the difficult demands of the education profession. “Sometimes,” she told me, “we see the results of labors immediately. Sometimes it’s years down the road. And sometimes we never see them. But when we do see them, it makes all the difference.”

That next week, I received a bundle of letters from the students in that chorus class. They apologized for their behavior and asked for another chance. They said they were eager to give their best performance at the adjudication. So, I returned. They pulled off the adjudication and a spring concert with much success. They were very proud of their efforts, and so was I. I saw some of the students on occasion after that year, but those encounters faded off.

Some five or six years later, I was attending a Frederick Keys game and decided to leave early because it was getting cold and I hadn’t prepared for the weather. As I was leaving the stadium and heading to the parking lot, I heard someone call out, “Mrs. Jarman.” I turned around to find Jered, one of the students from that chorus class. “You don’t remember me,” he said. I told him of course I did-how could I forget his class! And then he thanked me. He thanked me for sticking with them, to help them do their best. He said it made a difference for him. In the fall, he would be entering his second year of college on a basketball scholarship. I gave him a big hug. As I walked towards my car, the words of my former administrator rang through my head, “sometimes it’s years down the road.” Yes, I had seen the results of my labors and they made me so happy that I cried the entire drive home.

Mardi Gras

Well, it’s just about time to pull out the Mardi Gras decorations. I’m wondering how many of you decorate for this festive occasion. My son swears that we’re the only people in our community who even recognize the day. But Mardi Gras is a holiday, and this old lady loves a good holiday.

I decorate for any holiday. Of course, there’s Mardi Gras, but there’s also Valentine’s Day, Easter, St. Patrick’s Day, Memorial Day, Flag Day, July 4th, Bastille Day-July 14th (the French National Holiday—but I teach French!), Labor Day (celebrated in May in France), Halloween, Veteran’s Day (Armistice Day), Thanksgiving and Christmas.

In December, we hosted a dinner party at our house and I had my menorah displayed on the hutch near my wall hanging that says, shalom. One of my guests pulled me aside and said, “I didn’t realize that you were Jewish.” I explained to her that we weren’t, but it was a holiday and I love decorations!

Now, I don’t just frivolously decorate. It is important to understand why we celebrate holidays. So my students get lessons on the history of Saint Valentine, Saint Patrick, the treaty of Versailles, labor unions, All Saints, Plymouth and other historical and cultural events. So on March 8th, my students will experience a lesson on Mardi Gras that I have created based on all of my research on this holiday.

Mardi Gras is the official end of the carnival season. Carnival begins on Three Kings Day or Epiphany-January 6th. It is the festival of feasting and celebration before the season of Lent. In my classes, we’ll feast on king cake, and I will explain the Mardi Gras colors: purple, green and yellow. Purple representing justice, green is faith, and gold is power. Mardi Gras in French means Fat Tuesday, so it is a time for eating and celebrating. In France, the day is followed by Mercredi Maigre or skinny Wednesday. We call it Ash Wednesday.

Mardi Gras is celebrated in Frederick by the Women’s Civic Club with their Mardi Gras ball. In 2001, my daughter Tiffany had the wonderful experience of being a Mardi Gras princess. Our family spent the evening dancing and smiling. There were masks and Mardi Gras colors, and a wonderful time was had by all.

But even more importantly, Mardi Gras signifies to me the ending of winter and the beginning of spring. We end the days of hibernating in winter to look forward to the glorious days of spring. Happy Mardi Gras!

Home

I've been thinking about family a lot recently. Family is very important to me. I remember years ago at a concert that we performed in Austria both of my beautiful children sang a duet from "The Scarlet Pimpernel." That song means so much to me, and I hope, to them. I just wanted to share that song. I hope that you have your home. I know that I have mine, and for that, I am truly thankful.

From "The Scarlet Pimpernel"

There is a child inside my heart tonight
No one can see that child but you
If I hold on to you too tight, you understand
You hold me too
You are the one who reaches through the dark
When I'm afraid, you warm the air
And, when I close my eyes to sleep
You are my peace, you are my prayer
You are my home
You make me strong
And in this world of strangers
I belong to someone
You are all I know
You're all I have
I won't let go
Others may leave, but you will still be there
Touching the tears that fill my eyes
When I am lost, you are my light
You are the love that never dies
You are my home
You make me strong
And in this world of strangers
I belong to someone
You are all I know
You're all I have
I need you so
I will not walk away from you!
I will not let you go!
You're the only home I'll ever know
You are my home
You make me strong
And in this world of strangers
I belong to someone
You are all I know
You're all I have
I need you so
I won't let go
You are my home

Valentines and Love: My soulmate

When my husband and I got married almost thirty years ago, we came to an agreement that gifts on anniversaries or Valentine’s Day were not necessary. We decided to simply share some time together and exchange cards that expressed our feelings for each other.

For some reason, I have never felt that my husband needed to give me something to show how much he loved me. I always knew that by the way he lived each day, the way he kissed me every morning, held my hand or my belt loop just so he could touch me. I knew he loved me when he’d get up in the middle of the night to check on a crying child so that I could get my rest. Everything little thing he did told me quite loudly and clearly that he loved me.

So, I never expected gifts. We’d spend a nice quiet evening together on those special days, holding hands and just looking at each other. Then we’d share our cards. I’ve kept every single one of those cards! When we were younger, I’d put dates on them and sometimes include where we had dinner or a little note about what we did.

What always bothered me was the reaction I received when I was asked what Tim got me for Valentine’s Day. My response was always “a card.” Some of my friends were appalled with my answer. “You mean you got absolutely nothing! Not even flowers?”

Now, there’s a story about flowers. I love them, but my dear husband fails to see the purpose of giving a gift that will die. He explained his logic, and I understood. That doesn’t mean I still don’t love flowers! I just don’t expect them as a gift from him. So you can imagine my shock when he came home from a trip once with a bundle of flowers for me.

“What did you do?” I asked him. “Why are you feeling guilty?” I gave him the inquisition. “All the other guys were buying flowers for their wives, so I thought what the heck.” My poor husband didn’t realize that his simple action would bring my wrath upon him. I told him that he never felt flowers were necessary before and that he was obviously trying to hide something from me. Why else would he have so dramatically changed his behavior?

Needless to say, I don’t get flowers any more. That’s another agreement we’ve come to in our marriage! I was content never having received them , and the drama that they caused when I did made the agreement essentially a no-brainer!

This year Tim and I will have a special Valentine’s dinner. We’ll exchange our cards, and when I am asked by those friends what gift I received, I will tell them that I didn’t get flowers or chocolates or jewelry, but I have the gift of love from my husband. A gift that I will cherish for the rest of my life.

Valentines and Love: My Children

Love comes to us in many shapes and I think that love is an appropriate topic for the month of February. Recently, I’ve been thinking about all of the different loves in my life, and I can’t help but think of the love I feel for my children. Love between a parent and child can be a very deep love.

I remember when my children brought me special gifts to share their love for me. There were the hand-made paper cards, the bouquets of dandelions, the hand-painted crafts from Sunday School or summer camp. But one of my absolute favorite gifts came from my daughter in the form of an English project when she was in the seventh grade.

Her assignment was to write about her role model. The students could choose any person, and my daughter chose me. Below is one of the most precious gifts I have ever received.

My Role Model
Tiffany Jarman May 1996

My role model is my mother
For me there is no other.
She has always been there for me
To love me and to care for me.
Many a new thing has she taught me.
She makes friends so easily.
She has so many friends
That the list doesn’t come to an end.
Someone of a different religion or race
Never to them has she shown a mean face.
Some of them have handicaps.
Never has she even thought to give them a laugh.
Some are attracted to others of the same sex.
But she just shrugs and says, “What the heck!
That doesn’t make any difference to me!
All are equal anyway.”
They are just as nice and just as smart,
In her life they play a very important part.
After all, everyone is only human.
She is trying to teach me to make friends as easily as she can
She has taught me many important things
Because of her, I feel as though I have wings.
She has shown me how everything I do fits into real life
She has taught me how to deal with stress and strife.
She has encouraged me to do better and more
With her help, I’ve done better than I’ve ever done before.
She always tries new things and always does her best.
She is so much better than all the rest.
My role model is no other
Than my wonderful, loving mother.

That poem hangs in my kitchen to this day. It is a constant reminder to me of the powerful role we play as parents, and how very blessed I have been to have the love of my two beautiful children. I continue to send them Valentine cards every year to celebrate the love I have for them.

Valentines and Love

Love comes in many different ways. Romantic love, unconditional love, and of course the love of true friendship. I have been blessed in my life with some wonderful friends, but I typically don’t associate my friendships with Valentine’s Day.

Last year, my friend Pam sent me a package at Valentine’s Day. When it arrived, I held it in my hand and looked at it for a few minutes before I opened it. “What on earth has she done this time?” I thought to myself. I’ll admit I was a bit surprised when I opened it and found a CD.

My dear friend had made a CD for me full of songs about friendship. There was Bette Midler’s “You’ve Got to Have Friends” and “We Are Family.” The CD was full of songs we had sung together over the years and songs that spoke of the special love of friends.

During our long friendship, my two best girls have become part of my family. My kids refer to them as Auntie Pammie and Auntie Carol. My girls come to family gatherings, birthday parties, weddings, showers and funerals. We share a special bond.

We’ve traveled together often. One of those special trips was supposed to be to Atlanta in the fall of 2001. Airport security had become extremely tight after 9/11, and our flight to Hotlanta didn’t look like such a good idea when an overzealous sports fan jumped the security line and shut down the airport. “Go to the gate agent and ask her to switch our flight to New York,” I told a panicked Pam over the phone on my way to Regan National. Having a spouse who is an airline employee has its advantages when quick changes in flight itineraries are needed.

Within a few short minutes, our weekend trip to the south became a weekend trip to the north. We still laugh about that adventure to this day. Laughter, it’s the spice of life! We had packed for a weekend of hiking and casual outings, only to find ourselves in midtown Manhattan purchasing tickets for a Broadway show. A costume change was seriously needed, but it was nothing that a shopping trip to Macy’s couldn’t change!

We had a blast that weekend. Three best girlfriends having fun wherever they were, making the best of any situation. We’re always there for each other, even if it’s been weeks or months since we’ve spoken. I can depend on my girls, and yes, I love them dearly. We are family!

This blog entry appeared in my column : "The Empty Nest" in the Frederick News Post, Sunday February 6, 2011.